


Just A Coffee

by SweetDeath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 40's Steve, Diners, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oh my god so much Fluff, Other, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Romance, Waiters & Waitresses, also bucky's got like 70 lbs on him, and steve doesn't beat the shit out of him only bc they're in public, bucky slides in and puts the moves on the reader, diner au kinda but not really bc dines definitely existed in the 40s, gotta warn ya... some of this gave me second hand embarrassment to write, i love my two stupid dumbasses!, kinda..?, skinny steve!!!!<3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:37:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDeath/pseuds/SweetDeath
Summary: Out of all the people to walk in and steal your breath away, it had to be him–– and honestly, you’re fine with it.





	Just A Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> hey babes I'm back!! 
> 
> I just started a fanfic writing blog (sweetdeathwrites.tumblr.com) and i have requests open on there, so hopefully I'll write more! I've got a few mcu stuff planned, so here's to hoping I'll have it done in a timely manner!
> 
> if you've got a request, send it over on that blog!
> 
> that's kinda all for now? 
> 
> [reader in this fic is a waitress/waiter.... what's the gender neutral of that?? they're that]

There’s a scrawny man sitting in booth five again.

 

He’s about your height, rolls up the sleeves on his shirt at least twice, and looks like he weighs ninety pounds soaking wet, max. 

 

He walked in last Tuesday, and since then you’ve found yourself daydreaming about him… You could kick yourself, really. Out of everyone to walk in, why did it have to be him?

 

On the bright side, he’s got a voice deeper than you expected looking at him, a thin face that’s been shaped by angels, and he’s polite as anything– including the tips he leaves. 

 

You sigh and pick up a menu. _ A dollar’s a dollar _ , you remind yourself, then smooth out your apron on the walk to his booth. 

 

As you approach, the blond picks up his head at the sound of your footsteps. Sweet baby blues are focused on you and it makes you bite your lip to keep a demure grin at bay. Jeanie, sitting behind the counter at the register snickers and that’s all it takes for you to let go off your lip and shake yourself into a more professional headspace.

 

“Good mornin’, sir,” you place the menu on the table in front of him. “Could I interest you in anything to drink while you take a look at the menu?”

 

He smiles and, good god, exactly who was it that polished that perfect row of teeth, all shiny and chrome? You want to know what the price range is on that baby. Maybe buy yourself one with all the tips he’s been giving. 

 

“Sure is a great morning, now.” He says, almost confident with his ears all pink. “And a coffee would be just perfect.”

 

“Alrighty, sir, I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

_ Sure is a great morning, now… _

 

_ Now? _

 

With your back turned to him, you mouth the word again in disbelief. What did he mean,  _ “now” _ ?!

  
  
  


 

 

Second week of blondie coming in, he ends up seated at the wrong table. Well, not the wrong table, just not the tables you cover. Jeanie’s side of the diner. 

 

You’re writing the orders of a sleepy family on vacation and get distracted by him. He flashes you a dazzling, nervous smile as he walks by you to the nearest empty seat, and waits with fidgeting hands for you to meander his way. 

 

Instead, Jeanie walks by you with an apologetic smile and half-empty pot of coffee in her hand to the blond’s booth. His shoulders fall but he makes an order and a breath you didn’t realize was trapped in your chest melts out. 

 

“ … and an order of hashbrowns–– actually, do you do half orders? I’m not feeling too hungry, is all,” the father finishes.

 

Aaand crap, you think to yourself, because for the last twenty seconds or so, your hand has been scribbling nothing but hearts over the poor family’s orders. What a way to start a morning. 

  
  
  


 

 

By the third week, you’ve gotten a feel for his rhythm. Since that day with Jeanie, the blond has stuck to the booth in the far corner of the restaurant that catches the perfect amount of sun without getting too hot–– but most importantly, it’s  _ your _ table.

 

“Hey again, sir,” you say, placing the menu straight into his hands. “Coffee?” You raise a brow, offering his usual.

 

“Thought I came to a diner, not a psychic’s,” is his reply, voice light with humor and just enough of sleep brought roughness to get the skin on the back of your neck to prickle. It’s a lame joke, but you laugh honestly anyway–– a little too hard, maybe, because Jeanie makes kissy faces at you when you go around the counter for the coffee pot. Her squeak and cussing when you kick her in the shin in passing soothe your pride a little. 

 

Out of the few coffee pots sitting, you choose the hottest and freshest one. Not for blondie, of course… You’re just being dutiful in your work, is all… You swing your hip around a grumbling Jeanie and you look up and see him waiting, looking shy and handsome as ever. 

 

_ Yep,  _ you think as you pour him a cup,  _ I’m just good at my job, is all. _

 

Blondie swallows a lump in his throat and asks how you’ve been doing and as you lean on his table and look at his stupidly pretty face from above, you really can’t deny it anymore.

 

This man, pretty and in need of a few home cooked meals, has you at his mercy. 

 

_ Oh, damn. _

“Hey, look,” he starts, combing a hand through his short hair… making it all fluffed up. Making you want to run your hands through it, too. “I’ve been coming here a while, and… well, I don’t know your name yet. I’d love to get to know you better.”

 

He smiles, shaky as a newborn foal, and you wither in the warmest way possible.

 

_ Damn it all. _

 

You give him your name–– and you’re maybe a little too eager because your middle name slips in by accident.

 

Blondie laughs, and he looks so much more relaxed now. It hits you that blondie was just as nervous as you about this, and the whole situation makes you lightheaded.

 

“Steve,” he says, hand out for you to shake. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

 

You take his hand in yours and it’s small and soft and perfect. The both of you hold the shake for a little longer than you should, and when he pulls back his elbow hits the coffee mug and sends it rolling, hot coffee spilling all over the table.

 

Steve curses, apologizing–– then apologizes for cursing, as you both rush to pile napkins over the mess. You’ll get an earful from Jeanie about having your head in the clouds and how you’ve done too good a job of reeling Steve in, but it’s worth it to see his brow furrow and his cheeks glow with embarrassment. 

 

Steve stays until the morning rush is over, talking with you for a quick moment when no one needs help or a refill on their drink. He talks about his ma, a friend named Bucky, and of his passion for drawing. You lean in probably a bit too close, until you’re sitting in the booth across from him. Steve orders a new cup of coffee whenever your boss comes around to glare at the two of you.

 

“Here,” you place the fresh mug on his table and swing the handle of it over to him. His hand is already reaching for it, though, and his fingers slide up your knuckles and over the back of your hand. For just a second, your heart leaps out of your chest.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, head tucked against his chest and ears on fire, “and thanks.” He takes a sip, turning away from you and his eyes crawling every inch of wallpaper so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes. You’re just as flustered as he is, but he’s looking about as red as a boiled lobster right about now. 

 

Pink, you’ve decided, is a delicious look on him. 

  
  


 

 

“Look alive, sunshine,” Jeanie says a touch on the loud side, “Your boyfriend’s here.”

 

Turning, confusion written all over your face, is Steve. You want to give Jeanie a swift pinch but he’s watching–– and this time, he’s not alone.

 

A man is by his side, looking all kinds of fine and polished, but only the second handsomest thing you’ve ever seen. Steve mumbles something to him and nods in your direction. The new man smiles bright as the sun, and the two approach you.

 

“G’ morning,” Steve says, cheeks looking a little rosier than a second ago. 

 

“Hi,” you say, grabbing two menus for courtesy–– Steve’s long since memorized the menu.

 

You’re about to lead the two men to Steve’s usual booth when the new man speaks up.

 

“Hello, sweetness,” he says, nodding at you, “I’ve heard lots about you.”

 

Brow quirked, you glance at Steve, who looks ready to chew his friend’s ear off when you’re out of sight. It’s another look you find unbearably cute on him.

 

As they slide into the usual booth, Steve fuming, you hand them their menus. “All good things, I hope?”

 

The man chuckles, dropping his angular jaw into his palm. From under long lashes, he looks up at you with what is truly a disarming smile, “Hard to paint you in a better light from what I’ve heard, honestly.”

 

At this, Steve kicks his friend from under the table, and rather hard from the yelp you get from the unfamiliar man. 

 

“Two coffees, please,” Steve grits out. His hands are clenched white around the plastic menu and you hear its squeaking between his fingers. 

 

“Sure thing, sugar,” you toss over your shoulder. Steve blushes again and his friend all but leers at him for it. The two boys are really at it, you can tell–– not only are their whispers loud and agitated, but other customers turn around to watch them box at each other. You shake your head. 

 

Two coffees in hand, they stop fighting just as you arrive back at the table. The new man huffs and takes a sip of his coffee as Steve speaks up.

 

“This is Bucky,” he says, voice still firm, “And I brought him along because I  _ thought _ he would be better behaved.”

 

Bucky’s head flies up like he’s about to start another fight and you intervene. 

 

“Ah, well,” you shrug, “you’ve got enough manners for the two of you.”

 

Bucky holds his chest like you’ve shot him and you can’t help laughing, and they both seem to soften a little bit at that, then conversation and banter and the slightest bit of flirting flow easily. As it was with just the two of you before, you end up leaning on the table, then into Steve’s side of the booth. You tell them you’re just giving your feet a rest, but Bucky grins and his eyes flit between you and Steve. He looks proud, chest all puffed out and cheeks near sore from how wide he’s been smiling.

 

You turn to see what Bucky finds so interesting, and you have to stop yourself from bumping noses with Steve. He reels back and turns his head to cough a little to excuse himself, and you’re stuck with a fluttering feeling in your belly. 

 

Bucky’s smiling but has the grace to change the topic. 

 

The vinyl seat squeaks when you lean back into it, and you can see Steve’s hand just a few inches from yours. His fingers tap the seat restlessly, and he is looking at Bucky so intently that you’re sure he’s ignoring how close your hands are. 

 

You roll your eyes but can’t stop your heart from leaping when you loop your pinky finger around his. Steve jolts and whips his head to look at you, then your hands, and back to you again. He’s got to be the least subtle person on the planet, honestly. Bucky’s continuing on with his story but snickering through it. 

 

You really can’t recall a single word he says, though, because Steve squeezes your pinky against his then holds your hand fully. His hand is small and slim but it’s the shape of joy and happiness, and you think to yourself that you don’t want to go another day without his fingers entwined with yours.

 

It’s safe to say that Bucky’s rambling fell on deaf ears for the rest of their time in the diner.

  
  
  


 

 

“Are you doing anything after this?” Steve asks one day, after you take his bill and empty cup from him. You’re startled by his words, but not as much as he seems to be–– redness creeps up his neck until he’s covered with it and he raises his arms up in wild gesticulation.

 

“Not to assume, or pressure you into anything,” he stammers, “but I thought it would be nice to talk to you outside of this place. I-It’s a nice place, not to say it isn’t, but I just–– I wanted to take you out to–” 

 

Steve just completely stops talking after those words. “Take you out,” he said.

 

_ Take you out… _

 

_ Take you out! _

 

“I’m sorry, I just––”

 

“Yes.”

 

Steve’s eyes widen at your interruption. The clatter of silverware and the easy conversation of other patrons fade away. He swallows, and chokes a little. 

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Don’t make me say it again, Rogers.”

 

“No, it’s just–– did you hear me right?” Steve’s in disbelief, head tilted slightly. Though he’s the one asking you out, in this moment he really believes you’ve absolutely lost your mind.

 

You take a pause. Doubt creeps in and your worst nightmare seems to be unfolding right before you. “Well, gee… I sure hope I did.” 

 

The conversation dies out again for a second. Both of you are at a loss for words.

 

“Um,” you begin. 

 

“Well,” he says at the same time. 

 

At this moment, you want nothing more than to claw your hair out and crawl into the kitchen freezer. Steve looks like he’s going to sprint out of here.

 

Not knowing what else to say, you default to, “Coffee?”

 

“Please,” Steve breathes out heavily, slumping his body back into the seat. Truth be told, this went way worse than he anticipated.

 

As you walk back to the counter, colors and sounds blur. Red becomes yellow becomes blue, and everything is much too loud. The coffee pours slow into a mug and you see every little chip in the handle and the coffee stains on the side of the mug. 

 

Your apron feels too tight, too itchy. Jeanie is a few tables away–– you could probably give her the mug, tell her you’re leaving town, and catch a Greyhound to the other side of the country, all by noon today if you make the move now.

 

It’s all for moot, though. Your feet remember the steps and you end up by Steve’s side without remembering the walk over.

 

“Here,” you place the cup in front of him. 

 

His head is in his hands and when he looks up, he stares straight ahead. His hands drag over his face and you’ve never seen a man as tortured as him. 

 

“Thanks.”

 

You don’t know what to do, so you just stand before him, hands wrestling and sweaty. You can’t not look at Steve, how nervous and conflicted he looks. It’s worrying you, honestly… Did you really hear him wrong? 

 

“I, um,” Steve shakes his head. “Wow.”

 

You’re cursing yourself for every little look and glance you’ve ever exchanged with Steve, cursing yourself for introducing yourself to him, for ever walking up to his table. You curse yourself for taking this stupid job, for living in New York, for falling in love with this beautiful mess of a man and––

 

“Okay, let me try again.”

 

Steve turns in his seat to face you. 

 

“Look, I like you.” He takes a deep breath. “I really like you. And I’d like to take you out on a date, if that’s what you want. If you like me and want that, too.”

 

And just like that, all the air leaves you. You’re close to fainting, you think, with the relief that just coursed through you.

 

Steve looks like he’s bracing for impact, for you to physically attack him with the way his eyes are clenched shut and shoulders hiked up high on his neck. 

 

In a way, he’s right–– you launch yourself at him and throw your arms over his shoulders to kiss him firm on the mouth.

 

You feel his eyelashes brush your face as his eyes shoot open, not expecting this in the least. They close shortly after, returning the kiss and his hands landing on your waist to pull you closer to him.

 

The kiss lasted no more than a few seconds, but Steve’s winded and gasping when you pull away from him. It probably doesn’t help that you’ve landed, basically, in his lap during the kiss. 

 

“Sorry,” he says, “It’s my asthma.”

 

For some reason, that leaves you laughing, an absolutely side-splitting and tear-jerking fit of laughter. Steve joins in too, though he’s not sure why.

 

Your forehead is pressed against his shoulder and his hands on your waist feel like the most blissful, comforting sensation you’ve ever felt. You jolt up with a gasp, however, when you remember. 

 

“You need to pay.”

 

“What?” Steve asks, incredulous. Sure, he had no intention of asking you to a date then letting you pay for it yourself–– the first time at least–– but he couldn’t deny you outright saying it was a bit rude.

 

“The coffee.”

 

He looks over at the cooling mug of coffee that sat untouched. He can’t help laughing again, head rolling back against the seat. 

 

“I don’t know why I offered you it, honestly,” you say sheepishly, and pull back from him a little. His lap probably wasn’t the best place to sit yourself on during work hours, as much as you wished you could sit back down and get kissed senseless, you really needed the work.

 

“I don’t know why I bought it!” Steve stands, seems to want to move closer to you. He slides his hand into yours, pinky first, and continues. “How about I settle this cup and meet you at the door?”

 

Your grin is cheshire-like, and you steal a look at the clock. Your shift is over in seconds, thankfully. “I’ll see you there.”

 

Steve takes a moment of holding you close, his eyes keep sliding back to your lips. He leans in and kisses you again, and this time you allow yourself to melt. Kissing him is sweet and soft and the slightest bit slick–– it’s electrifying and you can’t wait to see all the different kinds of ways he can make you feel with his kiss.

 

He pulls away and you purr, tongue flicking out to your bottom lip. It catches Steve’s eye, of course, and he reddens and his breath gets caught in his throat. 

 

“Go on,” he struggles to say, voice hoarse and a little strained. 

 

You all but skip back to the counter, untying your apron and throwing it in the back. 

 

You pass Jeanie on your way out, Steve’s thrown a handful of coins on the counter, and you loop your arm in his. Jeanie watches you turn the corner with your head on Steve’s shoulder, walking away from the commotion the two of you caused in the diner from all that tense confession mess and PDA. 

  
“Fools, the two of them,” she shakes her head, “Lovestruck and absolute fools.”


End file.
